


And Then I Met You (We Walk This Road)

by sunrisenpoet



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Book XIX: The Sun (The Arcana), Introspection, Julian is a hopeless romantic and a man in love, Light Angst, M/M, Male Apprentice (The Arcana), Minor spoilers for Asra's route, Pre-Canon, Sort of - it's hopeful more than anything else, Spoilers for Julian's route, he/him Apprentice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 21:01:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17433443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunrisenpoet/pseuds/sunrisenpoet
Summary: When the Devil confronts both of them there is a lot of things Julian Devorak still doesn’t know — but there’s one he is certain off, in a sea of uncertainty, and that thing is him.





	And Then I Met You (We Walk This Road)

When the Devil confronts them there's a lot of things Julian Devorak still doesn’t know — but  in a sea of uncertainty, there’s one he is certain off, and that thing is _him_.

* * *

Julian Devorak didn’t remember the first time he met him, nor about ninety nine percent of how their relationship used to be the first time they met. From the letters he found, and the intuitive pull he got, he reckons it must have been a somewhat solid working partnership — even if his self-doubt and the luring shadow of his failures make him doubt himself. Because how could it be so when he didn’t notice? When he wasn’t there for him?

He didn’t remember how he began to skirt around his barriers without Julian noticing, creeping into the tapered windows of his soul like the hopeful spring sun, brimming with new beginnings; he who was ever so close to make Julian believe he was worth it. He didn’t remember how he used to make him coffee (the best he doesn’t remember drinking), or warmed up his office and the clinic with magic, or how he used to pretend it hadn’t been him.

He didn’t remember his incessant dedication to find a way to cure the plague, not because of Lucio, but because of the People of Vesuvia. Those in the South End and the Flooded District, and those you both saw in the streets, the ones you knew and helped, who said hello to you both as you were walking by. He didn’t remember how he had started to foster the weak belief they didn’t see his failures, his impulsiveness or his delays when they looked at him, instead seeing their South End boy’s utter dedication to help them.

(He couldn’t remember how he had said _oh, Fuck Lucio_ , one day, making Julian laugh to the point of crying at the surprise of hearing him swear.)

He didn’t remember how he made Quaestor Valdemar less scary, with his brightness in a welcoming, nurturing way — a blatant opposite of Valdemar’s, whose constant good mood was cold and detached of all inviting feelings. Nor he recalled his ridiculously over the top yet hilariously accurate impression of them. He also forgot, and lost perhaps forever to his deal with the Hanged Man, how he made most of the lingering sensation of Lucio’s propositions vanish with a simple joke of “do you want me to disinfect you?”

Julian didn’t know all that much about him back then, still half enclosed in his own chaotic world. He couldn’t remember how he had told Julian he lived with his friend Asra, the magician, the magical arts tag team of Centre City, and how he hadn’t wanted to stay in Vesuvia due to the threat of the plague. Julian failed to remember how it was an admission made in the dim light of the room when it was well past midnight, one night they were both up late as he tried to heard Julian to get some sleep. He neither recalled how it was that quiet moment when he began wondering how could that Asra ever slip away from someone like him. While the dangers of the plague would trigger anyone’s survival instincts (not that Julian thinks he’s one to talk, he’s still unsure he has any) into fleeing Vesuvia, how could anyone not follow this man into the depths of hell, when his steady warm presence, and his beautiful sun kissed freckles on his olive skin, were there to remind you there was still good in this world?

But regardless if he had fought or not to keep him away, the pressing circumstances prevented him from realising anything until it was too late. Julian hadn’t realised he was sick, and that he did remember. He became sick, and Julian remembered failing him, but he didn’t how he had chosen to hide for as long as possible the symptoms of the upcoming illness, until his red sclera gave him away. He can’t forget not being able to save him, and that blasted nightmare in Valdemar’s trap back in Death realm will be a constant reminder, and so will be the voice in the tower loop, which trick or not, was haunting enough on itself. Even if he now knew he could come back, or that he didn’t have to do everything alone, some things had taken residence in his medial temporal lobe.

(What Julian never knew, and therefore would never be able to remember, was how he never let him know when he would be taken to the Lazaret, how he walked the city streets alone, with a surgical mask over his mouth and nose, and darting his eyes away from everyone. Julian doesn’t know how he thought himself a failure too, but while everything seemed black, he had always believed it to be darkest before the dawn, believing wholeheartedly in Julian’s ability to find a cure. If it was a fool’s job to hope, then he’d be a hopeful yet repentant fool, because he died apologising, forever sorry he couldn’t make it.

Because _he_ is the one who didn’t remember this, but he knew it in his heart nonetheless: that he would’ve loved to make it — one of his last thoughts during his ride towards the Lazaret, one had in absolute ignorance of how, in the end, he _would_ make it. Only not how he had thought he originally would. His memories before these last three years were lost to him, with few exceptions provided by intuition and his determination to find the truth, so he couldn’t remember he was thinking the setting sun resembled Julian’s auburn hair, or the sea foam was as soft as Asra’s, or how sorry he was he didn’t say goodbye, back on his way to the Lazaret.

He had always been brave and determined, and his time had come.)

Julian didn’t remember the moment the news of his death reached him and how he, for once, realised what it all was building up to. He forgot his self-recriminations for letting him slip away from him, because of his own negligence, just as he had claimed Asra had done. Julian had failed him, because he _was_ weak and a failure, and a disaster of a human being, walking blindly through life, with a crown of thorns called ‘Lazaret’ which Lucio had specially commissioned to torment him on top of his head. He had always hated being right in such times, always hated how the bitterness of living crushed the hopes he tried not to harbour back into grime.

He couldn’t remember how maybe he fell for Asra because everything was a blur and the magician was the only thing he had left to remind Julian of him. Asra, a couple of letters, left behind books, and a red-orange scarf he had mislaid in Julian’s clinic, and Julian lost at some point of those three years he spent running. He also lost the memory of the first time he saw him with it, and how amused he was at them matching: “Doctor and apprentice,” he had said smiling, fixing Julian’s cravat into place.

While he couldn’t remember, Valdemar ( _that asshole_ ) did. Always one step ahead of him, looking at him with their red eyes, sharp smile and steepled fingers; taunting him, as if they were saying: “you too will die, 069, just like your apprentice. Your weak-spot.”  Whereas Julian did remember, or thinks he remembers (perhaps it's an illusion caused by the fear he feels now, perhaps it’s his intuition) how everything became frightening again after he was gone, as Julian ran out of time and became sick himself, left completely alone. Until he found a cure.

When the Hanged Man had asked him if he was willing to sacrifice himself and his memories for the ability to heal and the cure of plague, he had thought handing his memories over — memories of him, whom he never deserved in the first place — was an easy bargain to make. So while he does remember running to Lucio’s room, determined to kill him, he does not remember how he got there. Not entirely at least.

The rest is history. He was framed for a murder he did not commit, because people like him — people-oriented, who distrusted the Count and wanted to help Nadia improve a city Lucio had left in shambles — were a threat to the Courtiers and Lucio’s rule. He was left with a magic mark he would be oblivious how he had acquired for years, and then he had to escape.

He had escaped from Vesuvia unaware how three years from then he would be breaking into “Asra’s” shop (again) to find answers, oblivious of who it belonged to or why that particular magician's apprentice was someone he was so drawn to. Oblivious he would find _him_ again. Him: the impossible sun of his life, who had no idea who he was except he did. Of course he did because deep down he knew he’d recognise that dramatic brow at the end of the world if he had to, because he’d go to the ends of the world with Julian with a bright smile and only mild complaining. Because he could find certainties in Julian’s dramatics and theatrics, his self-doubt and his generosity, just as he could tell the real Asra out of a thousand illusions of his best friend.

Julian Devorak remembered running from Vesuvia, not knowing everything he ever gave to the people would come back to him one day.

* * *

So when the Devil confronts them Julian Devorak realises he loves him. Of course he loves him, because how could he not love him?

The difference lies in how this time he is determined for them to walk the road of life together, come what may. He doesn’t remember all his previous mistakes, even if he doesn’t need to remember them to know he’s committed enough for a lifetime. But even if he doesn’t remember he knows, deep down, he’s willing to fight tooth and nail so he doesn’t commit them again, because he loves him, and he is a better man for it, because he came back from his mistakes and won so much love along the way. This time he, no, _they_ will make it.  

Because Julian Devorak knows he loves him, and nothing, ever, could make him forget.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I've fallen into this pit, so there's that. I was discussing Arcana with a friend and this popped into my head, and based on how (except for Nadia as far as i know) it's hinted you used to have some sort of building up relationship with Asra and Julian in their arcs, what if just like in his present arc you were building up to julian before the apprentice died of the plague. This is the result.
> 
> We also came out with the hc the apprentice can do a pretty spot on Valdemar impression. Don't ask me why.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated it, and if you feel inclined, you can go say hi to me on tunglr @vesuviasandsickles. Do not expect capitalisation there, tho: that's an effort I make only for writing narrative fiction. 
> 
> PS: Be thankful I didn't include the worst timed plague pun ever from the original draft.


End file.
